John Boyle O'Reilly
John Boyle O'Reilly was an Irish-born poet, journalist and fiction writer. As a youth in Ireland, he was a member of the Irish Republican Brotherhood, or Fenians, for which he was transported to Western Australia. After escaping to the United States, he became a prominent spokesperson for the Irish community and culture, through his editorship of the Boston newspaper The Pilot, his prolific writing, and his lecture tours.
O'Reilly was born at Dowth Castle, County Meath, near Drogheda in Ireland at the onset of the Great Irish Famine. Ireland was at that time a part of the United Kingdom, and many Irish people bitterly resented British rule. There was a strong... more »
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John Boyle O'Reilly Poems
A White Rose
THE red rose whispers of passion, And the white rose breathes of love; O, the red rose is a falcon, And the white rose is a dove.
THE world was made when a man was born, He must taste for himself the forbidden springs; He can never take warning from old-fashion'd things; He must fight as a boy, he must drink as a youth,
LOVE is a plant with double root, And of strange, elastic power: Men's minds are divided in naming the fruit, But a kiss is only the flower.
A Lost Friend
MY friend he was; my friend from all the rest; With childlike faith he oped to me his breast; No door was locked on altar, grave or grief; No weakness veiled, concealed no disbelief;
A Song For Soldiers
WHAT song is best for the soldiers? Take no heed of the words, nor choose yon the style of the story; Let it burst out from the heart like a spring from the womb of a mountain, Natural, clear, resistless, leaping its way to the levels;
A Builder's Lesson
'HOW shall I a habit break?' As you did that habit make. As you gathered, you must lose; As you yielded, now refuse.
What is Good
“What is the real good?' I asked in musing mood. Order, said the law court; Knowledge, said the school;
A Message of Peace
THERE once was a pirate, greedy and bold, Who ravaged for gain, and saved the spoils; Till his coffers were bursting with bloodstained gold, And millions of captives bore his toils.
At Fredericksburg—Dec. 13, 1862
GOD send us peace, and keep red strife away; But should it come, God send us men and steel! The land is dead that dare not face the day When foreign danger threats the common weal.
A MAN is not the slave of circumstance, Or need not be, but builder and dictator; He makes his own events, not time nor chance; Their logic his: not creature, but creator.
An Old Picture
THERE are times when a dream delicious Steals into a musing hour, Like a face with love capricious That peeps from a woodland bower;
A Dead Man
Trapper died—our hero—and we grieved; In every heart in camp the sorrow stirred. 'His soul was red!' the Indian cried, bereaved; 'A white man, he!' the grim old Yankee's word.
Yesterday and Tomorrow
JOYS have three stages, Hoping, Having, and Had: The hands of Hope are empty, and the heart of Having is sad; For the joy we take, in the taking dies; and the joy we Had is its ghost. Now, which is the better—the joy unknown or the joy we have clasped and lost?
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
A White Rose
THE red rose whispers of passion,
And the white rose breathes of love;
O, the red rose is a falcon,
And the white rose is a dove.
But I send you a cream-white rosebud
With a flush on its petal tips;
For the love that is purest and sweetest
Has a kiss of desire on the lips